Pistol
by r0cky0urs0ul
Summary: "He desperately wanted to hear her sing his words, give them life. He wanted to know her well enough to capture her own thoughts and set them to music. He wanted to play her his music and watch her feel what he felt when he heard her sing." He has a way with words, she is the voice he needs. Modern Day AU.
1. Chapter 1

The halls of The Juilliard School always seemed to buzz with activity. People from all walks of life wandered to and from various buildings carrying book bags and dance bags, guitar cases, or scripts depending on the nature of their studies. During any given time various sounds could be heard just beyond the doors of crowded classrooms and the students participating wouldn't have had it any other way. Passionate monologues, inspired strums of a guitar, and perfectly executed rhythmic movements were the soundtrack to life. All of it was everything any Juilliard student could have ever dreamed of. In this space others, who knew what distinct dedication and passion felt like when it burned in the chest, surrounded them all. They found comfort, they found friendship, in those who loved dance, love theater, or loved music as much as the person standing beside them.

It was Peeta Mellark's life, as he knew it, as he had known it for as long as he could remember. He'd been pouring himself into the deliberate strums he made on his guitar all of his life. Every flick of his fingers was purposeful when it came to the melodies he'd mastered on the piano. All of his life he'd been musical and, as a result, had felt out-of-place. A childhood spent in outskirts of Kentucky didn't allow many opportunities to expand on a talent his Father insisted he'd possessed since birth. He'd given him every opportunity he could, nurtured him, ignited his desire to continue to learn, and encouraged him despite the constant arguments from his Mother. Slowly, as his childhood had ticked by, others began to recognize his abilities. With two older brothers, he'd always had an eager and willing audience and they had pushed him to break out, escape from underneath the power of their Mother, away from the family business, and make recognition of his talent happen. It was as if they understood his need to get his music out there more than even he could articulate.

He wanted to write. He wanted to stand in the shadows and watch someone else sing his songs. Songs inspired by happiness and love. Songs inspired by pain and loss. He knew every feeling, had felt each one, and had been putting them down on paper since he'd figured out how to string a sentence together. His brothers were the source of all the happiness in his life and they had been since their Father had died ten years before. Ten years earlier he'd been rocked to the core when his Father's life had been taken so ruthlessly and without regard to the family that would be left to live on without him. That was the root of his pain, the sadness in his songs. Writing was his therapy, writing made it easier to live.

The highlight of his adolescence had come when he'd been accepted to the Bachelor of Music program at Juilliard five and a half years earlier. With a concentration in Composition he'd been given the opportunity to really dedicate every moment to his craft. His four undergraduate years had been the best of his life, meeting people just like him and improving on his skills. He'd even found his place in a band quickly, though he didn't do much of the singing. Finnick Odair was just about as egotistical as any lead singer had to be in order to be a convincing front man. He was the personality, the draw, the voice…and Peeta was more than happy to supply the material. They'd become friends, family really, and he knew his friend would be ecstatic when in, six months time, they would finally be able to relocate to Los Angeles.

They were working on putting a demo together and LA was the place where big things could happen for them. He didn't want to leave but once he completed his Masters degree…there was no need to stay anymore. Six blissful, inspiring years where he grew more than he thought imaginable were enough. It would soon be time for him to find the success he'd been working toward all of his life. Even if the band didn't get very far together, he knew it was their foot in the door. It was his shot, his chance to have his voice be heard. To prove that it hadn't been for nothing, to honor the sacrifices his Father had made, and to show his Mother that she'd been wrong all along.

Still, he knew it would be difficult to leave and that's why he'd been spending so much of his time taking in those around him. Watching each person with an inquisitive eye and attempting to walk a mile in their shoes. He was an artist; he was always trying to discover the voice of a stranger in his music. He wanted to tell everyone's story, not just his own. His own personal mission had led him to her. He'd stumbled upon her beauty, her grace, her talent on accident. The previous spring he'd been selected by a panel of Professors to take part in Julliard's Composers and Performer's spring concert. On the evening of the concert, just after he'd finished tuning his guitar in one of the many acoustically suitable hallways, he'd walked past a seemingly empty rehearsal room. Except it wasn't empty, she was there, warming her voice as she paced back and forth. In simple dark denim jeans and an orange top, she'd caught his eye. She'd been catching his eye ever since.

He knew her name. He only knew it because on that same evening she'd sang on the same stage he'd played on. A simple piece, accompanied by only a piano, but a piece he'd known she'd been completely devoted to. He'd watched her from the wings as she'd left her heart out on that stage. The strength in her voice, the vulnerability in her eyes, and the sound of the entire auditorium silencing the minute she'd opened her mouth. All of it had made his chest tighten. Every feeling he'd ever tried to convey through his music had found a home in her voice, in an instant. Even his brothers had been impressed. They'd shoved the program into his face after meeting him backstage later that evening and demanded to whether he knew the Katniss Everdeen that had performed. He didn't know her, though. Not personally, just the way she sang…and the way it made him feel alive.

At the start of the term he'd been walking out of a meeting with Professor Abernathy, who had been giving him some feedback on one of his demo recordings, when he'd heard the familiar sound of music coming from a room further down the hall. It wasn't unusual to hear many different sounds coming from several different rooms but on that particular evening it had been so late that the ethereal sound had been the only noise present. He'd walked toward it and peeked into the room at the end of the hall. And instantly he'd been taken back to the emotional place he'd gone to on the evening of that spring concert. Her gray eyes had danced with the melody coming from the speakers and as she'd executed each note with a seemingly effortless perfection. Her voice had been so wrought emotion it was as if singing were an act of purification. He'd been coming back every night since to watch her, to try to get into her head, into her heart, and understand what drove her to those emotionally overwhelming sounds. He didn't want to know a life that didn't understand why Katniss Everdeen hurt the way she did, loved the way she did, sang the way she did.

It was early evening now, the sun was setting and amazing variations of burnt oranges and pale pinks were painting the room she sang in. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a braid, and her fingers toyed with the end of it as she studied a piece of sheet music. The light casting across her face made her look like the angel she already sounded like. Every one of the notes she sang flowed from her mouth with uninhibited effort, and as she reached moved easily from one verse to the next he wondered if she felt like she was breaking free. He desperately wanted to hear her sing his words, give them life. He wanted to know her well enough to capture her own thoughts and set them to music. He wanted to play her his music and watch her feel what he felt when he heard her sing. He just didn't know how to say it without sounding like a creep, without making her want to run in the opposite direction.

"I thought I might find you here," his head snapped up and in the direction of the familiar voice of his best friend and band mate. "Peet, if she catches you staring at her like you are…"

"I'm not staring," he insisted with a shake of his head. "You don't understand…"

"I understand plenty," Finnick interjected as he set his hand on his best friends shoulder. "Stalking…"

"I'm not stalking!"

"Stalking her is not going to get you into her bed."

"I'm truly a lesser man for putting up with you," Peeta rolled his eyes as he retrieved the guitar he'd been playing before she'd brushed past him in the hall hours earlier. "Let's get out of here before she catches you being an idiot."

"Oh, okay, I'm the idiot," Finnick agreed sarcastically as they moved away from the room and down the hall. "I just don't know why you try; she doesn't talk to anybody…"

"With a voice like that, who needs talking?" Peeta questioned with a shrug before looking to his friend once more. "She's amazing, you know."

"Amazingly private," Finnick answered simply with a nod. Peeta laughed at his friend before stopping short of the hall's main exit. He'd been in such a hurry to usher Finnick away from her that he'd forgotten to retrieve his guitar case.

"I forgot my case," he announced.

"Like that was an accident," Finnick called after him with a laugh as he walked back down the hall.

Hoping to catch just one glimpse of her he walked toward the room she'd been in after grabbing his case. When he saw it was empty he sat down on the stairs, opening his case and setting his guitar inside. Maybe Finnick was right about everything, maybe he was becoming far too attached to the girl he didn't really know. Maybe she was just a really good singer; maybe there was nothing more to it than that. He couldn't shake the feeling, though, that they were kindred. Their pain was similar; he could feel it deep inside. The purpose of their art was the same, to free themselves from ache.

"I was wondering whose case that was," it was a voice he'd know anywhere even though he'd never heard it other than in melody before. Looking up from his guitar he followed the length of her legs with his blue eyes before focusing on her face. The red blouse she wore made the gray in her eyes pop and he could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat. If given the opportunity he knew he could stare into her eyes forever.

"Yeah," he finally managed to answer as he closed the case and snapped it shut. "I guess I'm so used to carrying the guitar around that I forget about the case."

"Are you in the music program here?"

"Yeah, Master of Music, Composition concentration," he replied as he stood up.

"You're really lucky, I would give anything to stay here for another two years and continue to sing," she declared with a smile that he thought seemed sad. "Fourth year, Vocal Arts."

"I…you don't need two more years," Peeta stated simply.

"You've heard me sing?" she questioned with a curious gleam illuminating her eyes. How happiness looked on her was astounding to him. As good as she was she looked surprised, flattered, that someone had recognized her talent.

"I realize that sounds mildly stalker-ish," he answered with an awkward laugh before continuing. "I saw you perform at the Spring Showcase. It was…wow. I mean, even my brothers, who know nothing about music…they were…impressed"

"Thanks," she nodded, biting back on her lip, before extending her hand. "Katniss Everdeen."

"Peeta Mellark," he took her hand in his own and shook it slowly, wanting to maintain the contact for as long as possible. It was like an electric shock, he felt the intensity she possessed flowing through him now. He was feeling a little bit of the woman she really was inside of him. "Your performance that night…It really was just…I can't believe…it was really, really amazing. I've never heard anything that a…"

"Amazing?" she finished his sentence for him before letting out a nervous laugh and dropping his hand. Her laugh, her laugh was like a standing ovation after an amazing set. It made him feel like he could do anything, be anything. "I'm flattered, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I'm sorry to say that I haven't heard you play before," she confessed with a gentle smile.

"I'll play for you…anytime," he promised. If his best friend had been around at that very moment he would have laughed at how eager he sounded, but he didn't care. He wanted her to see him for who he really was, hear the parts of him he only revealed in his music. It was crazy, he didn't even know her, but he knew that she would appreciate who he really was more than anyone else could. "Just tell me when and where."

"Really?" she inquired, her smile widening when he nodded. "I'll have to catch a performance sometime…"

"That would be great," he interjected with a laugh. He could almost feel his cheeks turning pink. How was a complete stranger able to have this effect of him? It didn't make sense, and he was beginning to think it didn't matter. "We, my band and I, we usually perform at the Bell House, the bar on Seventh. We're pretty much there every weekend."

"I know where that is," she stated as she tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'm a bartender at Barcelona Bar most nights but maybe I could work something out; as long as you don't mind that I'm all sweaty and smelling of smoke when I get there."

"Sweaty doesn't bother me at all," he declared before shaking his head back and forth in disbelief. What was happening to him? "Again…that sounds so much creepier out loud."

"No, I'm almost always working at the bar so I'm always sweaty and smell of smoke, I'm glad it doesn't bother you," she laughed gently as she reached up and started toying with the end of her braid. Again, the sound made his heart jump. It was every melody he'd ever attempted to put down on paper, it was every strum of his guitar, and it was everything the artist inside of him wanted to be. It was a reason to smile, a reason to breathe.

"So, tomorrow night, we go on at 9."

"I'll find someone to cover the last part of my shift," she commented with a nod.

"We could meet here before, around 8…head over together," he suggested before quickly continuing. "I mean, if you want…"

"That would be…good," she agreed as she rocked back on her heels before glancing at her watch. "It's getting late, I should go."

"Yeah, of course," he concurred hurriedly. "So, tomorrow, 8 o'clock, right here."

"Right here, right…right here," she affirmed biting on her bottom lip once again. "Goodnight, Peeta," she waved before turning on her heel and walking down the hall.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow," she replied with a slight blush before disappearing around the corner.

He eased himself back down on the stair before cupping the back of his head in his hands. He hadn't expected meeting her for the first time to go that way at all. It had been awkward and comfortable at the same time, if that was even possible, and if she'd asked him to he would have played for her right then. There was more to her story, he knew that, and he wanted to know all of it. He wanted to know why her eyes sparkled the way they did when she talked and why each time he'd mentioned her talent she seemed like she couldn't believe he was really complementing her.

Most of all, though, he wanted to know if she'd felt what he had when they'd held each others hands. His palm was still on fire; he could still feel her on his fingertips. It felt like the beginning of something great...like discovering an amazing melody. When an artist stumbled upon their own artistic greatness, their entire soul lit up with excitement. Peeta felt like he was glowing from the inside out and he knew that their own personal song had just begun and the possibilities, as with anything spectacular, were endless. He could only hope that she felt the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**So sorry for the delay between chapters! Things have been crazy for me! And for about 2 days this Peeta and Katniss _were not_ cooperating with me! Hope you find it was worth the wait. As usual, all mistakes are my own! All reviews are greatly appreciated as I am still very uneasy about sharing my writing! Much love!  
**

**-Melinda  
**

Chapter 2

"We're going to be late…"

He shot his friend a look as he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and continued to pace back and forth. It was 8:30pm and he was still standing in the same hallway she'd agreed to meet him in…with just his band mate. When he'd told Finnick of his encounter with the "mysterious" Katniss Everdeen, and of their plans to meet so she could attend one of their gigs, he'd pretty much insisted that he be present when she arrived. It wasn't at all how he wanted his meeting with the talented girl to go, but he couldn't really say no. They _were_ going to be heading in the same direction, after all, and Finnick _did_ do all the singing so she'd meet him at some point anyway. He just hoped his friend wouldn't do anything to scare her off, or doing anything that could be categorized as annoying or rude. Thus far, he was failing, so it was a good thing that she hadn't arrived yet.

"She'll be here."

"Peet, we're going to be late for our own gig if we don't…"

"She'll be here!" he repeated, his tone a bit more adamant than even he'd expected, before catching Finnick's gaze. "I'm sorry…she just said she'd be here…"

"I think you need to try to calm the hell down," Finnick laughed as he held up his hands in mock surrender. "If you get wound up so tightly over a first date…"

"It's not a date," he muttered.

"Maybe not to her."

"Not at all," Peeta argued with a shake of his head. "I don't…date."

"Correction: you don't date _well_," Finnick stated. "You get all caught up in it, lose focus on anything but trying to satisfy the girl in question, smoother her…"

"And then they dump me," Peeta added with a sigh. "I'm well aware of my many inadequacies when it comes to dating…which is why this isn't a date."

"I wouldn't call them inadequacies," Finnick argued with a shake of his head. "More like, unresolved Mommy issues…"

"Finnick, please!" Peeta pleaded as he clasped his hands together in front of him. "I know it is _really_ hard for you not to take every opportunity to put me on blast but I'm begging you to try to act somewhat normal."

"Hey, I _am _trying," Finnick insisted. "And besides she's not even here…"

"Try harder," Peeta suggested with a sigh. "And she'll be here."

"Normal is overrated, you know?" Finnick commented as he eased himself down onto the floor. "In fact, Annie says she loves me because I'm not normal."

"Yeah, well, Annie is crazy," Peeta muttered as he glanced down the hallway for what felt like the thousandth time. "Sorry," he breathed.

"Peeta," Finnick couldn't suppress his smile as he chuckled once again. "What is wrong with you, right now?"

"Nothing," Peeta replied quickly as he turned on his heel and continued pacing the floor.

"You're full of crap," Finnick accused as his eyes followed every nervous step his best friend took. In the five and a half years he'd known Peeta Mellark, he'd never seem him this way. Completely frazzled and unable to control his nerves was not something Peeta usually had an issue with. In fact, in the face of most nerve inducing situations, Peeta was typically eerily calm. So calm that it often made those who were nervous a little uncomfortable around him. This 'non-date' seemed to be setting him on edge, though, rendering him completely incapable of handling his emotions. What was it about this Katniss girl? "Peeta, no girl is worth this…"

"She is," his friend interjected with another sigh before shaking his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"She can't be _that_ good."

"She's…amazing," Peeta declared simply. "I know you don't get it. You don't feel it, Finnick, that's fine…but I do. Something in her voice, it does something to me."

"She's just a girl who can sing," Finnick reminded.

"That's just it, she's _not_ just a girl who can sing," Peeta argued. He didn't know how he would even begin to explain to his friend what he was feeling but he knew he had to try. Since the first time he'd heard her sing, the first time he'd spoken to her, the first time he'd heard her laugh, the way she'd looked at him the night before…it felt special.

"I feel like she might be the only person in this world who will understand me," he confessed gently shaking his head at the skeptical glance his friend shot his way. "I don't know how I know that but I feel it. I don't need to date her, I don't need that, I just need to know that she understands me."

As Finnick opened his mouth to reply an unfamiliar voice broke in. His friend's head whipped around instantly, making it clear that he knew who the voice belonged to.

"I'm here, I'm here!" the voice called out as its owner rounded a corner and appeared. Dark hair swept up into a messy ponytail, wearing a simple pair of dark denim jeans and a black t-shirt, purse hanging loosely from her shoulder, as she ran toward them. She was a sight; Finnick would give Peeta that much, out of breath and gray eyes drowning in regret.

"I am so sorry," she quickly swept a loose piece of her hair to the side and tucked it behind her ear. "My co-worker was late and traffic was horrible. And my sister _would not_ stop calling me while I ran here…"

"It's fine…" Peeta cut in with a nod as he turned his eyes to his friend, gesturing for him to echo the sentiment.

"Well, it's not like they can start without us," Finnick added with a shrug.

"What he _meant_ to say is: it's okay," Peeta declared with a nervous laugh.

"I'm so so sorry," she repeated with a sigh as her purse slid from her shoulder and landed on the floor. "I am going to make you beyond late…"

"But you came," Peeta interjected with a smile as he bent down and gathered her purse in his hands.

"I told you I would," she answered lifting her hands to adjust her hair. As he righted himself he caught a glimpse of the dark ink that marked the skin of her right hip, her shirt having lifted to reveal the tattoo. It was musical notes, he knew that much, and he couldn't help but wonder what song she loved enough to wear on her body forever.

"We…should go," Finnick cut in as he stepped forward, lifting his eyebrows when his friend's eyes finally lifted away from the girl's hip and focused on him. He knew that look, had seen Peeta with it several times in the years he'd known him…and what he knew was that all of that 'I don't want to date her' stuff was complete _bullshit_. His friend was already head over heels.

"Yeah," Peeta agreed quickly. "Katniss, this is Finnick. He's the lead singer in our band."

"Nice to meet you," Katniss held her hand out, though her eyes remained locked on Peeta. "You don't sing?"

"I…can't," he replied with a shake of his head as he turned away from her to reach for his case.

"What _he _meant to say is he won't," Finnick argued as he took her hand. "Finnick Odair."

"Finnick…" Peeta warned as he flashed an uneasy smile in Katniss' direction.

"You won't sing?" she questioned as she bit back on her lip.

"I just prefer…"

"That nobody looks at him," Finnick cut in.

"I prefer writing," Peeta amended sharply. "But…I could sing."

"Really?" Finnick questioned sarcastically. Peeta hated singing. It was like pulling teeth to get him to do it. Annie had been forced to coerce him into performing at the Spring Concert. He had been known to compare performing to water torture, having all of those eyes on him made him nervous…which is why he hung back, wrote everything down and set it to music, before handing it over to someone who relished in the attention. Someone like Finnick. Their friendship was mutually beneficial.

"You could?" Katniss inquired as she draped her purse over her shoulder once again. "Will you?"

"Uh…sure," Peeta answered with a shrug. "I don't think there is anything in the set tonight where I'm singing lead…"

"Is there ever?" Finnick wondered aloud.

"…but I could play for you after," he suggested. She smiled as she gave a quick nod. He would sing for her every minute if it made her smile like that. Something in his chest tightened as she took a step to the side and motioned down the hall.

"I'll follow you," she announced her eyes catching his, holding his gaze as she fidgeted with the strap of her purse.

"Finally," Finnick let out an exasperated breath as he began walking down the hall. He knew this was going to end badly, for everyone involved. Peeta would lose his mind over this girl, who apparently sang like a goddess, and be rendered incapable of writing any decent material when she broke his heart. Perfect timing, right before their move to LA, which he knew meant the world to his friend.

He hated seeing him hurt, hated seeing him unable to do what it was that he had always done best. He may not be so graceful about it but he really cared for the person who had become his best friend. He and Annie had helped him feel from many a broken heart over the years. He'd be damned if he let some girl with a little bit of talent pull Peeta's attention away from all that he'd ever wanted for himself. Finnick would not stand by and watch his best friend's soul get stomped on again, not when it had happened so many times before at the hands of every woman that had come into his life…his Mother included.

"Don't mind him," Peeta muttered his apology for his friend as a quick 'sorry' passed through Katniss' lips. "He gets jumpy before a show."

"Liar," Finnick breathed with a roll of his eyes. He _never_ got nervous.

"It's okay," she replied with a sigh, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Thanks for waiting for me tonight, Peeta."

"Not a problem," Peeta stated. "So…you have a sister?"

"Yeah," she answered as her smile widened as she looked to the ground. "Prim's seventeen…going on thirty-seven. Do you have siblings?"

"I have two brothers," he commented.

"Are you close?" Katniss questioned.

"More so now," Peeta answered. "We hated each other when we were younger. What about you and Prim?"

"Very," Katniss declared as she lifted her eyes and focused on his face once more. There was something in his eyes that made her feel like she could tell him anything. Like she should tell him everything, and that it would be okay if he knew. She couldn't put her finger on it, and wouldn't have been able to define the feeling for anyone (she had failed at trying when Prim had badgered her for details about the mysterious guitar playing stranger she'd agreed to meet), but it was there. She knew so little about him but somehow she could feel that he was different from anyone else she'd ever met. Deep inside her, in her bones, in her chest…she knew Peeta Mellark would understand her. "It's just been the two of us since I was eighteen."

"Your parents…" he started but caught himself before continuing. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business…"

"No, it's okay, Peeta," she insisted with a gentle and reassuring smile. "Our Dad passed away when I was sixteen. Our Mother hung around until I was old enough to legally be Prim's guardian before taking off."

"I'm sorry…about your Dad," forgetting all about the sulking Finnick who continued to walk in front of them, Peeta sighed as his breath caught in his chest. He'd been right they _were_ kindred. She'd lost her Father and he'd lost his. That's what he heard in her voice, the quality he hadn't been able to describe before. Each time she sang…she was singing out to her Dad. Just like each time he played his guitar, the notes were meant for his Dad to hear. She was seeing him for who he was without even knowing, without even trying.

"It was nearly six years ago," she commented with a shrug.

"Doesn't mean it's easy," he argued, letting out another heavy breath when understanding flashed in her eyes. "My Dad died ten years ago."

"Then you know six years can feel just like yesterday," she responded as she slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

"Just the same as ten years can," he agreed with a simple and quick nod. They were both quiet for a moment, reeling in the memories of their lost loved ones, before he found his voice. "Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really happy you made it," he confessed. She smiled once more, her eyes softening, as she reached out and wrapped her left arm around his right. As her hand came to rest just above his elbow he felt the electricity he'd felt the night before shoot through him once again. Her touch was unlocking places inside of him that he hadn't known existed, freeing him to feel every emotion he'd held at arm's length for so long because he knew he wouldn't have to experience them alone.

Her eyes focused on where her hand had come to rest for a moment before they moved to his face once again. It all felt so easy, like they'd known each other for years. She couldn't imagine that the night could get any better but she _knew_ it would once she heard his music. She knew it would be incredible and amazing and have the ability to define every emotion she'd ever felt. She knew he would reveal her for who she really was with his words…and he hadn't even had to try. He'd been seeing her since before they'd even met, if that was possible.

"Me too."


End file.
